2 days from 5-12.

Officially in a "caretaker personality."

Non verbal me is actually quite nice, kind to people, hard working.

Had a flashback to waking up with a 2 foot long dildo wrapped in barbed wire and slathered in a mixture of lime jello and blood in my trunk.

Specifically that one.

So it's just like, cool and fun, you know, remembering shit I can't post on traditional media even though it really happened.

This is why I hate nostalgia.

It's not just the bad shit, it's the good shit too. So many extremes, nothing really fits together into an articulable narrative.

I was never okay, and I'm not going to get better.

At best I can accept how fucked up things are.

And no, I've never worked up the balls to tell my therapist I worked in Deathmatch as a ring announcer for three years.

I'm sure that'll go over fucking great.